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Cadis Raizel
The Bushido Code was the most important to that of the samurai way of life, and especially to Lord Zankuna, who had been training in the martial arts and relishing in the art and importance of the Bushido Code for his entire life on the Path of the Samurai. Raizel was his first pupil that was relentless to his teaching methods. From the first steps she took in the dojo to the first time she swung a katana, Lord Zankuna was her father figure and had overseen most of her training. He had raised her from the time she was young, and she knew better the curvature of his knuckles and the cracks between them than the welcoming embrace he was known to give to the schoolchildren after their lessons. Today was the last stage of her initiation and soon after, she would join the Hyoungza (Hi-yowng-za) army in its missions to protect her city, Mikido (''Me-key-doe), from future attacks by the rival clan and the most dangerous in all of Japan, the ''Dao ''(Dow). "The time for your training completion has come," the warrior said as he raised a tattooed hand to lift her up off the floor. Raizel brushed the dirt off of her tunic. "Thank you, my Lord," she said. Immediately, she was met by knuckles digging into the flesh of her cheek as she hit the dust. Lord Zankuna loomed over her, hands behind his back in disappointed expectation. "You did not bow to your superior. Have 4 years of training taught you nothing about the Bushido Code?" She said nothing, unsure of the violence that would ensue from the response she was likely to disappoint her father with. "I am sorry, Father." She knew that wasn't enough. Sorry was not a word that was used in the Zankuna household and certainly not one that warranted amnesty from mistakes. Punishment was sure to ensue, and Raizel knew from the many welts and bloody scratches on her forearms, legs, shoulder, and the length of her back, that any pleas would be disregarded when it began. "Clearly you have forgotten the Bushido Code, the one you were raised with, and the one me and your mother have taught you since your birth-hood. You will remember it now. Kneel." She exacted, without hesitation, the order she was given and knelt with her back turned on the cold stone ground. "No lashings will be enacted today. In light of the completion of your training, a special disciplinary action will be taken. Follow me." He strode down the narrow corridor with its wooden struts and paper screens, leaving her to trail behind in uncertain hesitation of what was to occur, but certain it would be worse than the consequences that led her to wet nights in a pool of tears as she remembered each leather stripe across the small of her back. They turned a corridor and disappeared behind a ''shoji, ''a thin paper divider. Behind it lay the defining moment of her livelihood. A young boy knelt on the wooden floor, a thin paper sack covering his head, his arms bound with thick copper wiring, and two ''meshitsukai ''at either side. "For many years, you have disappointed me, wasted many years of my life, tested my patience and my discipline, exacted my strength and forced me to leave marks on your skin as a reminder of the chain of command in the village, a reminder of the civility your tongue does not seem to possess. Countless times have you disobeyed the eight virtue of the ''Bushido Code. What is it? What is the eighth virtue? Surely by now, you should have it memorized." Raizel took a deep breath, afraid of the calm nature her father possessed despite his apparent rage. "The eight virtue is character and self-control. 'The first objective of samurai education was to build up Character. The subtler faculties of prudence, intelligence, and dialectics were less important. Intellectual superiority was esteemed, but a samurai was essentially a man of action'," she recited from the code manuscript she had been forced to read after school each day. She inhaled shakily, hands still behind her back in an attempt to exemplify discipline. "It is time you learn what true character is." Lord Zankuna drew the sack from above the man's head and produced a thin katana from his belt. "We found this man trying to steal military intelligence from our barracks, secrets only true samurai with knowledge of the Bushido Code should know. He is a traitor. Perhaps, with a little conviction, you shall understand." Raizel sharply inhaled and she could feel her arms growing weaker, weaker, as she remembered the identity of the boy kneeling before her in the form of a distant memory. It was a clear Sunday afternoon after training and the boy stowed his katana, easily jogging up to the lengthy stride of her walk. '' "''Hey, my father is hosting his annual dinner tonight in light of the end of training. Would you like to join us?" Raizel nodded vigorously. The boy cracked an easy smile, the dimples forming on the corners of his cheeks accentuating the pallid color of his face and the unkempt strands of his onyx hair. "I would love to," she said, a genuine smile forming across her frail lips. '' ''That night, she did not remember the ramen that had been served on the family's finest china or the prayer that was said at that evening meal. The only thing she could seem to recollect was the nimble precision of his frail fingers as he traced his hands down the curvature of her body and the dampness of his hair as she ran through the scraggly strands. '' ''The only thing she seemed to remember was his father bursting through the door and chasing them both through the bedroom window, screaming obscenities that were never spoken in her own household. The only thing she seemed to remember was his knuckles on the boy's skin as fist was brought down time and time again on the boy's face, chest, cheeks in a bloody profusion of violence and rage. The only thing she seemed to remember was the rage in her own household as Lord Zankuna brought down his rage upon her back, the all-too familiar bite of the leather making contact with her toughened skin. '' ''The only thing she seemed to remember was the tears that poured down her face as she sat by the candlelight, as they did each night. She dropped the katana and turned, tearing away from the world she had once called home as she plunged herself deeper into the jungle and farther away from the all-too-familiar territory she had once been accustomed to. It was then, away from her sanction of home that she had once been accustomed to, the too-familiar feeling of bruising and tough love given in the form of knuckles on bone, that she realized she no longer knew what truly lay ahead for her in this new path she had chosen for herself. Her name was Raizel. She was broken. She had seen it all. The pain, the anger, the desperation to escape. Her day, her reckoning would come. Despite the conviction of her father, she was already a warrior. No trial was needed. She was a warrior. She was a hero. Her name was Raizel. She was a broken warrior. And slowly but surely, she would begin to recollect the pieces. Her name was Raizel, and she no longer lurked in the shadows. Her name was Raizel, and the uncertainty of the situation became quite clear in a full force as a ring of fire came hurtling towards her, its massive ferocity enlightened in a brilliant clash of reds and yellows and brilliant oranges that clashed in its passion for destruction. She took a step back, and then another, and whirled to run at a ferocious speed. Tearing through the jungle, she whipped through the tumultuous terrain, vines clinging to her face and thorns ripping at her skin, as the meaning of true fear came forward and pounded at her head, thrashed at her stomach. It was a feeling truly stronger than any damage knuckles could ever do to her pallid flesh. The heat was vicious, singing the tips of the air lathering her arms and legs, her calves clammy with sweat that dripped off her as she tore away from the destruction in fear of her life. She could see the end of the thick shrubbery, a vast expanse of air marked by a sheer jagged edge of cliff. The fear was increasing and her determination to live grew ever stronger inside of her. Closer, closer, she approached. 5 steps away. I must live. '' 4 steps away. ''I'm never going back. 3 steps away. He'll never see me again. 2 steps away. This will not be the end of me. 1 step away, one more plant of her foot on the uneven vegetation that shrouded her vision, but not her will to live. 1 more stride towards freedom, towards life. They will fear me once again. And then, she lurched forward, plummeting into something she couldn't see. The pungent stench of salt stung her nose, sharp and bitter, as she fell forward into the unknown. She fell forward into oblivion. The broken sword forged anew, the gong ringing in her spirit, she let the darkness engulf her whole. Only one thought remained in her frantic mind, an attempt to ease her racing thoughts. My name is Raizel. My name is Raizel. My name is Raizel. And then, she could no longer fight it, and the blackness consumed her whole.